Dawn Tomorrow
by Merida's Hair
Summary: "The trigger, Emma. We were both going through extreme emotion, and this was the way our combined magic chose to respond. Magic-" She laughs, dry and sardonic. "-can be very unpredictable at the least expected of times, no matter how adept one is at controlling it, focussing it." Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

"Was it the boiled leaves or fried rabbit carcass?'

Regina delicately wipes the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief before sneering at it in disgust. "Excuse me?"

Emma crosses her arms, and raises a brow at her once nemesis. "You've thrown up at least twice in the past fourty-five minutes."

Regina fixes Emma with a glare that could probably wipe out an entire army. _And who knows_, maybe it had in the past. The past that's still pretty elusive to Emma besides pictures in a storybook that doesn't even refer to Regina by _name_ in favor of her moniker. She shifts her weight from one side to the next, and offers Regina a hand up, which she decidedly ignores.

"I'm perfectly fine, Ms. Swan." She retorts and stocks forward, ever the solid, stoic queen. Which would be fine, if Emma didn't know how much stress she's been in, _they'd_ all been, and the fact that she'd been through an electroshock machine almost to the point of death. And there's one thing Emma's come to realize in this whole Neverland adventure: they _need_Regina alive and well if they're ever going to make it.

A more terrifying thought is that perhaps _she_ needs Regina too. That they're better as a team than they ever were as bitter enemies. So instead of shrugging this off and saving it for another rousing campfire, she reaches forward and lightly grasps Regina's upper arm.

"Ms. Swan." Regina warns.

"We've started to refer to Henry as 'ours.' And you've already called me_Emma_ before. I think we're on first name basis."

Regina sighs, and it's a long, frustrated, _ancient_ sigh. Like Regina's just….tired. Of fighting her way through everything, of others demanding something of her she doesn't know she can give. She turns to Emma with those bright eyes, lips pursed, and moves her arm out of Emma's grasp.

"I don't know about _you_, _Emma_, but I'd rather not get captured by _lost boys_ while discussing trivial matters, such as a simple upset stomach that I can easily do away with _magic_ when we're at a safer location to perform it." Her eyes are blazing, and it's only because Emma is contemplating her warm breath that she realizes just how _close_ they'd become. She opens her mouth to say something, tries to move her feet to a safer location, but Regina speaks again. This time, her lips curve up into a familiar smirk.

"Or are you _so_ afraid of magic, like your imbecilic, _goodly_ mommy and daddy that you think I'll somehow turn back into an Evil Queen?" Emma feels the usual knot of annoyance in her stomach, as well as her face and collarbones warming for entirely different reasons–she'd come to think of it as the _thrill_, the only reasonable way she could think of describing the bit of enjoyment she gets with spats with Regina.

After a few deep breaths, she takes a step back.

"We're going to battle with Pan, soon, Regina, and if you're sick-"

"Just drop it, Ms. Swan. I am _not_ ill, and I can take care of the problem myself."

"There could be a leaf nearby that you could chew on till we get back to camp? I heard Mary Margaret discussing something like that back in my unplanned fieldtrip to the Enchanted Forest."

Regina scoffs. "Do I look like I have extensive knowledge of the flora in Neverland?"

"Well, no, but-"

"_Drop it._" And before Emma can say anything else, Regina turns around and stalks ahead, letting the leaves in front of her hit Emma in the face with a _smack_.

Emma sighs wearily, and wonders just exactly why she suddenly cares.

If Regina throws up again, she'll bring it up later.

* * *

Regina does.

Twice more, and after each time she fixes Emma with a knowing glare.

She'll gently ask Mary Margaret to lay off the Neverland spices in the boiled leaf stew next time.

* * *

The next day, and Emma's sure it isn't the leaves. Or that Regina's sick. Her skin doesn't have a sickly pallor, in fact it's sort of _glowy_. Not quite glowing, but her cheeks are flushed in a healthy way, as opposed to feverish.

When Regina holds her head during another patrol, sways a bit on her feet, and just announces to the others that she's fine, Emma starts to wonder further. And when Hook quietly takes her place in the next patrol–much to her chagrin, as he either leans in lecherously at every chance he gets–Emma starts to get suspicious.

She's not quite sure what she's suspicious of, the knowledge is sitting just underneath her tongue, until she glances over at Regina _just_ as her hand comes up to rest on her chest, her face held in a grimace, and Emma has a flashback to doing that same action in prison while….

…_Hell no._

* * *

It takes a lot of courage, but they don't call Emma the Savior for nothing.

(Again, she wonders why she cares so much.)

(For Henry, she reminds herself. This affects Henry too, and therefore her.)

(Right.)

She corners Regina two days after that puke-y patrol, and mentally wrings her hands together. The action ends up being Emma jamming her hands her pockets for a second, before chancing a glance at an impatient Regina

Regina's arms cross. "Is there any reason why you need to have whatever this conversation is in lieu of coming up with the plan to save _our_ son?" She punctuates the "our," surely to make Emma jump, and feel guilt building, and yeah, it works a little bit. She takes another breath, and then decides to get right to the point.

"Are you pregnant?"

Regina starts and she puts on an angry front, but for a moment her face falls, and her eyes look stricken, and Emma has her answer. Her eyes widen, and her voice holds nothing short of awestruck wonder, and slight horror.

"You are."

Regina lets out a breath, and the stricken expression comes back. She shifts her arms so that they're wrapped around her waist. Like she's holding herself.

Emma wracks her brain, and even contemplates pulling her hair. "But_…how?_Who could you even have….? I mean you have my Dad, I mean, David-" Emma shudders.

"Not even in your most horrifying nightmare, dear."

Emma lets out a sigh of relief. Oh thank god. No need to complicate the family tree–or family _dramas_–further.

"Or…._Hook?_"

Regina blanches and sniffs. "I wouldn't touch that filthy mongrel with a ten foot pole."

Emma throws up her hands. "Then _who_? And furthermore, _how?_" She's aware she's sounding shrill, but this just makes _no_ sense. And Emma's had it up to _here _with things making absolutely no sense. Regina's eyes darken then, and she stalks forward, and suddenly they're almost nose to nose again, Regina's lips curled into a dangerous snarl.

"I don't _know, Emma_. If you want answers, like _I've been trying to find for the past five days_, you'll have to contact the closest all-knowing being, because I _don't_ _know_, and I still don't know if that's exactly _what_ it is, because as you've said it makes _little to no sense. _And frankly, it's _none_ of your business."

She steps back again, and Emma deflates. No, it isn't her business. If Regina wants to deal with this later, and herself, of course she can. But this is going to affect everything whether Regina wants it to or not. Their plans for the rescue mission, battling pan, _Henry_, so Emma's…going to have to ask some more tough questions. Whether she wants to her or not, and seeing the panic in Regina's eyes, beyond the anger, she really doesn't want to.

"Alright, that….that doesn't matter right now. What matters is what you're going to do about it."

Regina holds herself again. "Like I said two days ago, Emma. I will keep the nausea settled with magic, and will formally '_deal with it'_ once we're off this forsaken island, Henry with us."

Emma moves to speak again, but Regina lifts up a hand. "I'm aware that I've seemed tired lately, and that is why I've given the patrols to Hook. I know I need my strength, and I _will_ be fine for the battle."

Emma crosses her arms. "Alright, but-"

"Pregnant women-" She pauses on the word, and it seems like she's even testing the word out in her mouth. "Are not delicate flowers, Ms. Swan. If I even am…that." She says, her voice harsh on the last word.

"Alright." Emma says, and it's calmer now. "Look, I've _been_ pregnant. I know. I went through hell while I was carrying Henry, but it was a decidedly different hell than omnipotent psychopathic teenagers running a magical island of mindfuckery and deathly booby-traps. So just, be careful. And _please_ tell me if it will really affect our current plans to take down Pan." She puts a hand on Regina's shoulder, and Regina looks at it carefully, considering it, before meeting Emma's eyes meaningfully, nodding at Emma's probably concerned expression.

Regina removes Emma's hand, but holds it a moment longer than necessary.

"I will. And like I said, it could still be a simple ailment. It mostly is." She sounds like she's convincing herself. Emma rubs the back of her neck, working out a crick, and gestures towards camp.

"We should probably get back. They'll most likely think we've slaughtered each other."

Regina's amused smirk is small, but present. "Probably." She agrees. Her expression then turns darker again. "And Ms. Swan, if youtell _anyone_ about this, _especially_ your mother-"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll destroy me if it's the last thing you do. I've got your number, Madam Mayor. Your Majesty."

Regina's smile is wider this time, and she stalks ahead of Emma.

"Just Regina is fine, dear. After all we're on _first name basis_, now."

"You got it, Madam Mayor."

There's a shake of a head, and Emma finds herself with a wry grin, even as fear and doubt churn in her stomach. Like Regina, she convinces herself it's probably just a bug. A bug that Regina can fix, or tamper down with magic. Because if it _is_ pregnancy, she has no idea what it'll mean. Or why it matters so much to her what it'll mean.

She takes a shuddering breath and returns to camp, her heart heavy, her confused thoughts not even the slightest bit cleared. She shakes them away as she approaches her parents, Regina, Hook, Neal, a roaring fire.

Henry. _Henry_. That's who she needs to focus on, and that's _all_ she'll focus on until he's alive and well and in her arms.

* * *

A/N: From a prompt by mayhemprincess on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere in the midst of the final fight–before the tide turned in their favor, when Henry was lying heartless and pale on an alter, Pan grinning like the glint off a knife, Henry's true believer heart pulsing _gold_ in the darkness of the cavern–they receive their answer whether they wanted it or not.

For just a moment they couldn't do much of anything; Emma is transfixed by Henry's heart, how _holy shit_ her kid's heart is _glowing_, and seems so precious, so priceless that all Emma wants to do is protect it, protect _him_, and all she can do is hold her sword and glare at Pan, and stare. Regina, just behind her is wearing a matching glare, her lip is curled and in her hands is a growing ball of fire, just waiting for Regina to throw it at Pan with gusto.

But Henry is slumped on the alter. Both mothers try their hardest not to look at him, for if they will, it will give Pan just the opening he needs. With each moment he's not breathing, it becomes harder and harder because oh god he looks so small, so _still-_

Pan has his heart.

One move, and _everything_ could go absolutely wrong.

Pan examines the heart, the gold reflecting brightly in his eyes, turning it over once, twice.

"The heart of the _truest _believer. Even more powerful than a heart born of true love, _lost girl._" He said, throwing those words like an arrow in Emma's stomach. She grips her sword harder.

"Give my son's heart back, you detestable little _louse!"_ Regina snarls, stepping next to Emma and burning that ball of fire impossibly brighter. Pan laughs, a hollow sound that rings through the cavern. They have to act quickly, because even though they _know_ Pan can't destroy the heart–he needs it too much for himself–if they try to attack without a semblance of a plan, the heart could be hurt, Pan could speed up his own plan and Henry could die, so Emma steps forward ever so slowly, sword pointed out.

"You're not going to win, Pan. We are not leaving without our son, his heart with him."

He twists it around in his hand. "You _forget_ how much you're outnumbered. Your pathetic little motley crew are probably all dead or dying right now."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so sure."

He laughs again, and god, Emma wants to kill him. She feels the desire acutely, in the spot of her chest that's hurt ever since Henry fell down that portal–no–every time a foster parent gave her up, someone told her she wasn't worth it, since Neal abandoned her, since Henry was taken away, crying and crying and Emma crying and _crying_. She growls and steps forward again, her sword poised at the tip of his neck, the glow from the heart now reflected in her own sword. She feels sick.

Surprisingly, and yet not at all, Regina steps in front of her, brushes her side against Emma's, her face is hard and stern as she catches Emma's eyes, but her eyes tell a different story. A softness just in the corners. Emma takes a deep breath and refocusses her energies. Feels the soft hum of her magic underneath her skin, chaotic in its own right, but ready for her.

"What do you want, _Pan_? Is it _power? Control?_" Regina asks, every bit the Queen she was and is still. Emma doesn't lower he sword, but does inch it from Pan's face, away from Henry's heart.

Fury burns in her eyes. "Because I think you're just a sad little man-child who's _far_ overstayed his _welcome."_

He squeezes the heart ever so slightly and there's a small gasp from Henry, and his body twitches, his small hand coming to clutch his chest. Both of them flinch ever so slightly, and Regina looks over at him for just a moment, but Pan can see. He's practically _beaming_ now with this knowledge of their perceived weakness. What he thinks is definitive control he has over them.

"Interesting." He says, flickering his eyes between Emma and Regina. "Id expect it from _you_." He points at Emma with the heart before fixing his gaze on Regina, his head turning like a vulture's.

"But you, _your majesty, _are quite the surprise. You see, I was interested in why you even came here. What was your angle? Did you want my island, my power? And then I saw, oh how the mighty do fall. I saw that you _loved_ Henry as your enemies do." He steps closer to her, and Emma steps forward, her sword coming between Pan and Regina before she even processes the action.

"Or perhaps." His grin widens. "Not quite so enemies, lost girl? The Savior and the Queen sharing a son. How so very interesting." He looks at the heart again, as if he's trying to decipher what exactly that means for the heart of the truest believer, what any of this means at all. Emma fights the urge to point his sword closer to his neck again. Come on, they just need a slight _edge, and then they can-_

"Love is weakness." Pan drawls. And damn she can't help the shiver running down her spine. She can almost hear the echoes of Cora in the echoes in the cavern.

"Wasn't that your mother's line?" He asks Regina, his head tilted. She snarls again, and relights the fire.

"You-"

Pan's eyes widen, and it's a startling reaction enough that Regina stops mid insult. His mouth forms an _O_ for just a second before settling into a manic glee and Emma feels the chill intensify. He doesn't step forward, but reaches the hand holding the heart out, and then drops it a little lower closer to Regina's stomach.

Henry's heart changes from a glowing red to glowing _purple_ and then glowing _blue_. The colors interchange, swirl around each other, intertwine like bodies in a bed, and Emma is transfixed once more, wondering where in the world she's seen this before and then it dawns on her like someone just dropped a stone on her stomach, pushed her in a pool of freezing cold water.

Those are _their colors._ Their magic, combined. When they stopped the trigger, when they _saved Storybrooke_.

And Regina's _stomach-_

"Well." Pan says, and draws back. The heart turns back to gold, and Emma can finally breathe again. She hears an exhalation of breath from Regina too, tiny, but not even slightly insignificant.

"It would seem that her majesty isn't so _unacquainted _with true love after all." He looks back at Emma. "_And _that there isn't just _one_ child born of true love on this island." He holds the heart with both hands and he looks so much like the child he's trying to stay forever that Emma could just wring his neck.

"More for _me, _then!" He says and shoots up into the air, and that's when they can finally act, Emma and Regina lifting their hands up in a united front.

And then another realization hits Emma like another stone shoved in her stomach. She actually gasps and spares a glance at her, trying to decipher the emotions on her face, how her eyes are widened and bright, how her mouth is set in a hard line.

"Regina." She rasps. _"Your-"_

_"Later." _Regina hisses.

_"Our?" _Emma whispers, still a rasp, spoken in abject wonder, disbelief, and she feels a lurch in her stomach, and she looks at Pan with Henry's heart, at Henry lying on the alter and-

"Our _son."_ Regina hisses again, and she doesn't have to say anything more. Emma gathers herself together and focusses every energy on Pan, on stopping him, feels the magic underneath her skin start to bubble and rise, feels Regina's join her, that searing connection their magic has always had.

They're going to win.

They're going to bring their son _home._

* * *

And they do.

Emma almost finds herself thinking about how small Peter Pan looks dead, scrawny and grey, but can't bring herself to drudge up any pity. It all happens so _quickly_. Regina pulling Henry's heart from Pan's chest with a ferocity that leaves Emma breathless, putting it back in Henry's with a tenderness that brings the same reaction. Snow and Charming and _everyone_ red faced with exertion and blood (of children, they were _children_) and breathing heavily, but _breathing_ and that's what matters, telling them that they'd managed to save a few lost boys who want a new home.

And then _Henry. Henry._ Emma can't hold in the choking sob his eyes opening again brings, how she clutches him to her, how he reaches for both her and Regina, whispers _Moms_, and she doesn't even contemplate the warmth that settles in her belly when he says that, and Regina is pulled into their tight hug, and Regina is sobbing, her sobs gasping, but she's smiling and her eyes are smiling, and he whispers _Moms_ again into the comfort of their hold.

Her little boy. _Their_ little boy.

There are reunions all around, (_Dad! Grandma! Gramps! Uh, Gramps 2! Oh, hey Wendy! Whoa, are you Hook?)_ And whatever that boy said before, he's still _Henry _through and through and Emma cries all over again.

She looks at Regina and they sigh a great exhalation of relief, more tears spilling down Regina's cheeks, and her smile is _beautiful._

It's Henry who closes Peter's eyes with quiet contemplation and a furrowed brow, who says, _I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. I mean I'm not, but still. You were probably like me once._ And yes, Emma thinks. Their little boy has changed perhaps. He's not so little, and whatever darkness comes with that, well, they'll do whatever they can for him through it. Because they _all _have it. Even the most amazing heroes.

And then it's scrambling to get back on the ship with Neal to lead them home–seven people added to their strange little crew–fighting the urge to punch the lost boys who've decided to leave Neverland, but their sad small faces, the ones that reminded Emma of herself won out, and she simply claps them on the back and tells them to get some grub. It's pulling the sails, guiding them across the waters, Henry's laugh as he helps Neal steer the boat, the beaming grin at his mothers across the deck. Wendy's relieved smile, yet tinged with a strange sadness Emma can't decipher. Hook looking at the seas ahead with a scope, Snow crying, David, _alive_, crying.

They made it.

Hours later, when the noise quiets from the decks, when the boat is pulled into the lull of night, Emma remembers the heart and the _purple_ and the _blue._

* * *

She eventually finds Regina towards the starboard end. She's standing tall and proud against the side of the ship, and her head is pointed towards the seemingly unending outstretch of blue.

Hell, Emma has no idea how to begin.

She settles for sliding next to her, leaning over the side and positioning her elbows on top of the railing. Regina sighs, or really more of an exhalation, but does not look at her. Away from everyone else, Regina looks….Regina looks scared. Not obviously, it's in the tightening of lips, the corners of her lips, the pull in her eyes. But there's relief in the way she's standing, that rigid tension not quite as stark as it was when Henry was in Pan's grasp.

She knows Henry is safe now. Sleeping soundly beneath the deck. She's probably going to go see him after this, because Emma thinks she's going to as well. She doesn't want to be far from him. Not tonight.

But knowing Henry is safe…..now she has to deal with what she's been ignoring this entire journey. And Emma, god, now that Emma is…part of it? She has to deal with it too. And all she wants to do is see Regina happy for fucking once, because they just saved their _kid_, Regina is considered the hero by the one person who matters to her. If any time in the past few months she should be given happiness, it's now.

"Long day." She says.

Regina lets out another small breath. "Indeed, Ms. Swan."

For some reason, that makes Emma stop wanting to try any pointless small talk to start them off.

"Regina. It's _Emma_. I mean we've, _we're_-" She stumbles to find the word.

"Say what's on your_ mind_, then, Emma." Regina fires back.

"Alright, I will. First of all, _how_? And second of all _why_?"

Regina finally looks at her, scathing, and it's all suddenly very familiar before there's a noticeable sag in her shoulders, before her lips tremble ever so slightly.

"Pan still could have been lying. He's not unknown to trickery."

"He looked pretty damn surprised, Regina. And the _heart_."

Regina looks across the water again. "I don't know how. It's not uncommon that a…child can be produced from a strong moment of emotion, but it mostly occurs during emotional experiences of a sexual nature."

Is that a blush that rises to Regina's face? No, nope. Regina Mills doesn't blush. But heat certainly rises to her collarbones, and Emma finds heat on her own, and in her stomach.

"Right." She coughs. "Yeah. But we totally didn't-"

"The trigger, Emma. We were both going through extreme emotion, and this was the way our combined magic chose to respond. Magic-" She laughs, dry and sardonic. "-can be very unpredictable at the least expected of times, no matter how _adept_ one is at controlling it, focussing it."

There's quiet for a moment, as both contemplate. Emma runs her her thumb across the pad of her left finger and lets the cool night air invigorate her, the slight wind run through her hair.

"But what I don't get is that, yeah, we had extreme emotion, and our magic was combining, but it feels like you need something _else_, y'know? To create a kid?"

Regina looks out into the blue, gathers herself, wraps her arms around herself.

"Love, Emma. True love. It needs that."

The word reverberates in Emma's head–_love love love love–_no. Regina and _her_? They…..Emma breathes deeply, finding herself thinking back to all those moments she protected Regina without thought, how seeing her sad makes her sad, how seeing her happy has a similar affect, and sure maybe there's a _connection_, they have Henry after all, maybe their lives are similarly fucked up, but _love? Love?_

Love.

She glances at Regina, follows her profile from bright eyes to the slope of her nose, down her neck, and wonders for a moment what it would be like to hold her. She exhales with the warmth in her stomach building from that image alone. It terrifies her. Because they can't fall in _love_. Two people like them? With each other?

And yet.

Oh god, she doesn't _know._

"But we-"

"Save it, Ms. Swan. You don't need to say it." Regina looks so hurt for a second before it's cleared away by practiced impassivity, and it hits Emma right in the gut, because she's expecting to be rejected. And well, Emma would expect the same thing in her case.

But she doesn't disagree. Because she just doesn't _know_, and there's too much to consider, too much to be_ processed_, too much to cry about, too much sleeping to catch up on. A son downstairs who she wants to see the rise and fall of his chest.

Emma wishes she had an appliance to take apart.

"What are you going to do? What are _we _going to do?"

Regina looks out again. "Tonight's not the night to discuss this, Emma. If there's ever actually a right time."

"The ship has ears?"

Regina rolls her eyes, and Emma feels comfort in the familiarity this time.

"I'm going to see Henry. Are you coming with me?"

"Yeah, just…just give me a couple minutes." Her voice is still raspy.

There's an unexpected hand on her shoulder, a squeeze, and then only the sound of Regina's heels clacking against the hardwood decks. A pause in the steps gives Emma pause to her thoughts.

"You have a tattoo." Regina says. And it's not a question, although her head is cocked.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. A dandelion."

Regina stares at it. "A dandelion. A dande_lion._" Her eyes widen.

"What?"

"Nothing, absolutely _nothing_."

Regina leaves quickly, and Emma is once again immensely confused, and then her thoughts overturned by _home_, Henry's _safe_, and, _a baby._ A baby that could be_ hers_, and what does that mean, mean for _all_ of them?

She leaves a few moments later, to see her son, to see the mother of her son, to see her family that she's still not quite sure she fits into but loves all the same, wondering just what's going to happen after they step back into their lives in Storybrooke once more.


End file.
